The Wordsmith & The Dilemma
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A writer's dream turns into a nightmare. Meanwhile, Lawrence springs a couple of bombshells on Roarke. Follows 'The Guinea Cat'.
1. Chapter 1

§ § § -- April 28, 1984

When Leslie and Roarke met Lawrence in front of the veranda on yet another sunny Saturday morning, it was with some surprise: Lawrence looked distinctly pale. "Are you all right?" Roarke questioned him.

Lawrence glanced at him and said, "I must admit I'm not at my peak this morning, sir. I seem to have contracted some sort of stomach virus. I strongly suspect the culprit was that mahimahi that Mariki served last Tuesday evening."

"Perhaps you should take the day off," Roarke observed.

"Oh no, no sir, not at all," Lawrence immediately objected. "What on earth would you do without me? No, sir, I shall carry on." And so saying, he stepped with discernible care down the walk to meet the brown convertible that drew up beside the fountain.

"Well, that proves he's British," Leslie said, and when Roarke gave her a quizzical look, she clarified, "Stiff upper lip."

"Apparently so," Roarke said and glanced heavenward. "After all, what would I do without him?" Leslie snickered loudly, and Roarke indulged in an answering chuckle before placing a hand on her back and guiding her to the waiting vehicle.

Less than ten minutes later they were watching their first guest step out of the plane and make his way down the dock, tripping now and then because he was so busy craning his neck looking at the pretty native girls and all the lush, colorful tropical scenery. "Mr. Andrew Doren," Roarke introduced him, "of Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada."

Lawrence groaned a little theatrically. "Medicine Hat, indeed. If only there truly were such a thing."

Leslie shot him a strange look, and Roarke carefully stifled a smile before continuing. "Be that as it may...Mr. Doren's fantasy is to meet Nero, the emperor who supposedly played a violin during the conflagration of Rome."

Leslie scoffed, "Everybody knows that's a myth. How are you going to pull that off?"

"My dear Leslie," Roarke said patiently, "I said only that Mr. Doren wishes to _meet_ Nero...I said nothing about watching him fiddle." Leslie blushed sheepishly and shifted her weight.

"You mean to say that Nero _didn't_ fiddle while Rome burned?" Lawrence demanded in genuine amazement, causing Roarke to roll his eyes. Leslie immediately felt a little better.

At this point a young blonde woman with a moderately attractive face emerged from the plane and picked her way down the dock, and Roarke directed Leslie's and Lawrence's attention thereto. "This is Miss Janine Andrulaitis, who comes from International Falls, Minnesota. All her life she has been making up stories and writing them down; and it's my understanding that she has three completed manuscripts to her credit. Unfortunately, not so much as one of her words has been put into print. So Miss Andrulaitis' fantasy is not only to have a published book to her credit, but for it to be a bestseller."

"Ah," said Lawrence. "How on earth could anything possibly go wrong with such a straightforward fantasy?"

"All too easily," Roarke replied ominously. And with impeccable timing, one of the native girls materialized in front of him with his beverage, neatly cutting off the question Lawrence had just opened his mouth to ask. "My dear guests...I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" Roarke declaimed. With that he took a sip, and Lawrence clutched his stomach.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Roarke, Leslie and Lawrence drove their Canadian guest to a wooden covered bridge not far outside the island's largest town, and everyone got out of the car and approached the bridge. "This is where your fantasy begins, Mr. Doren," Roarke told him.

"Where?" Doren asked. "I don't see..." He stopped and stared at the bridge, whose interior had filled with an opaque fog in no time at all. "You mean I cross that bridge? Through that pea soup in there?"

"That's all there is to it," Roarke said with a touch of amusement. "On the other side you will find ancient Rome, just as it was in the time of Nero."

"You might want to take these," Leslie said, handing Doren a stack of folded white linen. He accepted it with a puzzled look.

"What're these?" he asked.

"Togas," Roarke said.

Doren nodded, stood and stared at the fog while his hosts waited. Finally Lawrence asked, "Wasn't this your fantasy, sir?" At Doren's nod, Lawrence swept an arm out to indicate the bridge. "Then what are you waiting for? The great Roman Empire awaits you!"

"I guess you're right," Doren mumbled sheepishly, turned and took a step, hesitated and turned right back again. "Mr. Roarke -- are you positive I'm gonna find Nero in there?"

"Mr. Doren, I must warn you that the window of opportunity is limited, and if you fail to cross the bridge with alacrity, you will lose your chance to visit ancient Rome and be granted an audience with Nero. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind...?"

These words finally galvanized Doren into action. "No, heck no," he blurted. "See you later." He turned and pelted into the bridge, where the swirling fog promptly swallowed him whole.

"About time," Leslie muttered, and Lawrence sighed.

"I must admit, I was certain he would never cross that bridge," he agreed. "I hope we're not too late for our other guest."

"We should make it just in time if we hurry," Roarke said, and with that they got back into the car and proceeded with all due haste back to the main house. Pulling up near the fountain, they all spotted their second guest just climbing the steps to the porch of the main house.

Everyone met on the steps and exchanged greetings. "I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory, Miss Andrulaitis," Roarke said.

"Oh, absolutely," she said with a quick nod and a wide smile. "In fact, I was particularly struck by the beautiful painting of the Pyrenees on the wall of my bungalow. Who's the artist?"

Roarke and Leslie exchanged secretive smiles: the painting in question was one of the two Tattoo had given Leslie just before leaving the island with Solange the previous year. "He's a very dear friend of mine," Roarke said with a smile. "If you'll come inside, we can discuss your fantasy."

Once inside, Roarke moved behind the desk; Leslie, as usual, stood beside it; and Lawrence took up a post next to a sideboard which bore a tray that held a cut-glass decanter and a crystal goblet. "Please sit down, Miss Andrulaitis, and tell us a little about yourself," Roarke suggested.

Janine sat down, and Lawrence poured some water from the decanter into the goblet and handed it to her. "Thank you. Well, I've been writing ever since not long after I learned to read. The first story I ever wrote was something called _Monkey, Turkey and Donkey Find a Skeleton Key_." Her hosts chuckled. "I have everything I ever wrote in a file cabinet at home, and my mother even used to date the stuff I wrote when I was a kid. I just wish something could see the light of publication, if you know what I mean. It's not easy getting one rejection slip after another. So I thought it might help bolster my will to keep trying if I got a taste of what it's like to have a book on the _New York Times_ bestseller list, even just for a weekend."

"Understandable," Roarke said smilingly. "The fact that you included a manuscript with your original letter was extremely helpful."

"It was very good, madam," Lawrence offered. "I was awake till two A.M. trying to finish it; I just couldn't put it down." Roarke shot him a startled look, and then swung around to stare at Leslie when she spoke.

"I guess we all read the manuscript," she said and glanced sheepishly at her adoptive father. "Lawrence is right -- it was great. You're a really good writer. I can't understand why nobody wants to publish your stuff."

"Thanks for the encouragement," Janine said with a wistful little smile. "All writers thrive on praise, and every little positive remark is more than welcome...especially to us unpublished authors."

"Ah," said Roarke, "but as of now, you are no longer in that category, Miss Andrulaitis. As soon as you step out the door, you will be among the ranks of bestselling authors." He lifted a gold pocket watch from his vest, checked the time and replaced it. "In twenty minutes, you are due for a book-signing appearance at a store not too far from here. Leslie will take you there." He handed his daughter a set of keys. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for years," Janine said and grinned at them all. "Lead the way, Leslie!"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- April 28, 1984

There was already a line in front of the bookstore when Leslie drove Janine into the village, which made her decide to park in the back of the small strip mall where the shop was located so that she could sneak Janine into the employee entrance. Janine stared at the queue as they passed the shop. "Are all those people waiting for me?"

"Yup, that's your adoring public," Leslie said, grinning. "I'll take you into the back so you don't get mobbed. Hope your signing hand's in good shape."

Janine blinked and suddenly smiled, looking misty-eyed. "Tell Mr. Roarke from me that he sure does a great job," she said, and Leslie's grin softened into an appreciative smile.

"I'll be sure to do that," she promised. "Come this way." She parked and then led Janine to the employee entrance, where she rang a bell and introduced Janine to the young woman who answered.

"Oh gosh, _you're_ Janine Andrulaitis!" the clerk blurted excitedly. "I hope you'll sign my copy of your book too. There must be three dozen people already waiting for us to open so they can get their copies signed. What a great book -- I just couldn't stop reading, and it was way past my bedtime before I finally finished it."

"Thanks," murmured Janine, turning red, but clearly thrilled with the effusive praise.

Leslie followed Janine and the clerk through the storeroom and into the shop, down one of the aisles, to a table on which sat several stacks of hardcover books. Since Janine hadn't seen her own book yet, she promptly gave in to her curiosity and grabbed a copy off the top of the nearest stack to stare at it. The jacket was done up in bright green with the title, _Road to Kingdom Come_, stamped across the top and her own name at the bottom in elegant gold script. Wonderingly Janine fingered the raised letters of her name and then looked at Leslie. "This was worth every penny of the price of this fantasy," she said softly. She studied the jacket once more, then looked up with a huge grin and exclaimed, "Bring 'em on! I'm ready to sign every book on this table and then some!"

Leslie and the store employees laughed, and one went to unlock the door while Leslie retreated into the aisle and waited long enough to watch Janine happily signing her name in one book after another. The store manager approached Leslie and asked, "Are you staying, Miss Leslie, or will someone be around to pick up the author? She's supposed to stay only two hours."

"Right," said Leslie, "and then she's headed straight for another book signing on the other side of the island. I need to check in with Mr. Roarke, but I'll be back in time to pick her up. Try not to let her get writer's cramp." She grinned, and the manager chuckled.

"We'll take good care of her," he promised. "See you in a couple of hours, then."

Leslie exited the store the same way she had come in and drove back to the main house, where Roarke was in the midst of some paperwork. "Where's Lawrence?" Leslie asked.

"Hm? Oh, he said he had somewhere to go," Roarke murmured absently, without looking up. Leslie shrugged and took her usual chair beside the desk. She had spent a lot of time studying there whenever she had weekend homework during her school years, and it had eventually become "her spot" in Roarke's office. She had brought back a copy of Janine's book with her, and spent a few minutes reading the author bio printed on the back jacket flap beneath a photo of Janine. Before she had finished, the door opened and Lawrence came in, looking as pale as he had earlier in the morning and clutching an airmail envelope in one hand.

Leslie looked up, but Lawrence's gaze was fixed on Roarke, who was so absorbed in his current task that he didn't seem to be aware Lawrence was there. Only when the silence had grown unnaturally long did Roarke finally lift his gaze. At first he looked inquisitive; then he took in Lawrence's odd expression and frowned in concern. "Lawrence, I'm beginning to think it's time for you to pay a visit to the doctor," he remarked.

"I don't understand, sir," Lawrence began, then seemed to realize what Roarke meant. "Oh, actually, sir, I wished to speak with you, if I could. It's a rather...urgent matter."

Roarke nodded and gestured to a chair, gathering the papers he had been working with and knocking them into a tidy stack. "By all means, please sit down," he said, setting aside the papers. "What can we do to help?"

Lawrence cleared his throat noisily and settled into the indicated chair, fumbling with the envelope. "I received this last Tuesday," he began, displaying it at Roarke and Leslie. "It comes from England. Cornwall, to be precise. My favorite part of England. I was born and raised there, and I quite miss it. The mists, the moors, the -- "

At that moment the door opened and Julie entered. "Hi, uncle, I just brought over the list of rooms for..." She stopped mid-speech and mid-step when she realized that Roarke, Lawrence and Leslie appeared to be in conference. "Oops, sorry. Looks like I'm interrupting something. Why don't I just come back later?"

"Oh, no, as a matter of fact, this may interest you, Miss Julie," Lawrence blurted out hurriedly. "This letter came to me today from your relatives, Niles and Eileen MacNabb."

"No kidding, really?" asked Julie with interest, handing her godfather a sheet of paper. "I haven't seen them in ages!" Her face lit with some memory and she grinned broadly. "That traveling magic show Delphine used to work for took us to England when I was about fifteen, and we stayed with them for a few days. Old Zachariah tried to talk them into joining the troupe, but they thought he was the scruffiest-looking old coot they ever saw. They even made him sleep in the hayloft!" Everyone laughed, Lawrence a little too loudly. "So what did Niles and Eileen have to say?"

Lawrence looked curiously relieved, and without further ado commenced to extract the letter from its envelope, shake it open and read from it. " 'I do hope this letter finds you well. I must say, we had the devil of a time tracking you down. We learned only two months ago that Moira had passed on, and as we are in need of a butler, we immediately thought of you. Unfortunately, no one seemed to know where you were. We were forced at last to contact Moira's daughter Bláthnaid, which was no mean feat in itself. It seems she has hidden herself away in some great ruin of a castle in the Outer Hebrides, and it was all we could do to contact her. We have been in great need of a good butler for some time, as our last one announced that he could no longer tolerate conditions here. I admit the place has been rather untidy of late, but if Niles could only be bothered to levitate his belongings back into place when he has finished with them... Ah, but that's another matter. We hope you might be tempted to return to dear old England, although I'm sure it would be very difficult for you to leave a plummy job in a place like Fantasy Island! I don't think we can offer much to match that! But nevertheless, please do consider joining our happy home.' "

Julie laughed. "Wow, they must've really been desperate if they went so far as to contact Bláthnaid."

"Blanna?" asked Leslie tentatively, trying out the name.

Julie grinned at her and spelled it. "It's an old Irish name. Anyway, Bláthnaid's one of those easily irritated types who can't seem to stand people and makes it a point to stay as far away from civilization as she can get. And when she loses her temper, they can hear her from one end of Great Britain to the other." She shook her head at another memory. "I met her only once when we visited the Dobsons, but once was enough."

"So," Roarke broke in when it seemed as if Lawrence would have happily allowed Julie to continue blathering on about her wide assortment of eccentric relatives, "what you're saying, Lawrence, is that you are considering taking the position in England, then?"

Lawrence seemed to droop in his chair, but there was a sense of profound relief about him all of a sudden. "Yes, sir, that's what I was getting around to explaining. It seems the perfect position, and I miss Cornwall, of course, and the MacNabbs are wonderful to work for." He sat up straight, realizing what he had just said, and stared at Roarke in alarm. "Not that you haven't been wonderful to work for as well, sir..."

Roarke smiled. "I understand, Lawrence. I can see this would mean a great deal to you. We'll certainly miss you around here; but if you truly wish to accept the position, then by all means do so. I will be glad to give you a reference."

Lawrence nodded and sank back in his chair with a big smile. "I would be most grateful, sir. I won't leave right away, of course. The MacNabbs would like me to begin work on the first of June, and I know the busy season is probably about to begin..."

"There's no such thing as a 'busy season' here," Leslie said. "Every season is busy."

Roarke chuckled. "Indeed so. I appreciate your coming to me and explaining the situation, Lawrence. It appears I'll have to draft another advertisement."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that, sir," Lawrence said hastily, beaming. "I know I'm leaving you rather in the lurch, so I'll take on the task of finding a replacement for me. Never fear, sir, I'll find the very best possible candidate. You have my solemn word on that."

Leslie looked very dubious; Roarke raised one eyebrow. Even Julie's expressive face got a skeptical look about it. "You do realize that I must ask you to continue performing your regular duties while you're...uh, interviewing candidates," Roarke said.

"Of course, of course," Lawrence agreed, nodding vigorously and rising from his chair. "It will be no problem at all. I'm so relieved about the outcome. I must rush a letter to the MacNabbs right away and let them know I shall be there on June the first. Thank you so much, sir, and it has been a great honor and privilege working with you." So saying, he all but ran out of the house.

"Did you notice he seems to have miraculously recovered from that stomachache he had this morning?" Leslie asked wryly, staring after him.

Roarke laughed. "Yes, he did seem quite 'in the pink' again, didn't he? I suspect he's been agonizing over that letter ever since he received it. You will remember that he said his malady began last Tuesday, after all. I don't think it had anything whatsoever to do with Mariki's mahimahi."

"Mariki's what?" Julie asked blankly.

"Never mind, Julie," Roarke said, still chuckling. "I suggest that from now on, you keep abreast of the progress Lawrence makes in his search for his own replacement. If he doesn't succeed in finding someone before he leaves for England, you may find yourself facing another very busy summer."

"Just like last year," Julie sighed. "I don't know if you should leave him in charge of finding you a new assistant, uncle. He's likely to turn to my relatives for help, and that could be very...well, let's call it _interesting_. We'll be lucky if all he digs up is a Cornish pixie or two. My family knows some pretty weird oddballs." With that, she left the house, leaving Roarke and Leslie to contemplate her offhanded remarks.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- April 28, 1984

They were all occupied for the rest of that day: Leslie transported Janine Andrulaitis to her second book-signing appearance; Roarke checked up on Andrew Doren in ancient Rome; and Lawrence seemed to be trying to juggle half a dozen things at once. Mid-afternoon, Leslie and Julie, discussing possible additions to Julie's menu, came upon Lawrence in the clearing where the Saturday-night luau was usually held, directing caterers in setting up the buffet while jotting down additions to what turned out to be three separate lists.

"You know, Lawrence, you're gonna make yourself sick all over again if you don't slow down," Leslie informed him.

"I suggest, in that case," Lawrence replied acerbically, "that you handle this one." He handed Leslie one of the note pads he carried. "It appears all you have to do is shuttle our one guest from one author appearance to the next, and you obviously have time to chit-chat with Julie in between. So you can be in charge of gathering together some of the material for next weekend's Revolutionary War fantasy." Leslie saw Lawrence's lip curl as he said the words _Revolutionary War_ and scowled, yanking the pad out of his hand.

"You guys ought to call a truce," Julie remarked. "You won't be working together very much longer. And shame on you, Lawrence. Leslie was concerned for your health, and you jump all over her case. You shouldn't have offered to find Mr. Roarke's next assistant for him."

Lawrence sighed deeply. "You're quite correct, Miss Julie. I really have been taking on too much. But I must admit that I still feel guilty for leaving Mr. Roarke in the lurch like this."

"Is that why you said you'd look for the replacement assistant?" Leslie asked.

Lawrence nodded. "I'm afraid so. My apologies, miss...although I won't apologize for my feelings on the Revolutionary War." He smiled teasingly at her, and Leslie grinned back.

"In that case, I won't apologize for the U.S. winning," she said, and they both chuckled. "Just what else are you doing, anyway?"

"Pulling together tonight's luau," Lawrence began, ticking off a finger with each item, "arranging a time and place for the next island council meeting, deciding in which newspapers to place an advert for a new assistant, making arrangements with three different television game shows to offer all-expense-paid trips here as grand prizes, and trying to arrange for someone to fix a leaky water hose in one of the vehicles...among other things."

Julie and Leslie looked at each other and shook their heads. "Let me at least get the newspaper ads placed for you," Leslie offered. "I'm not due to pick up Janine Andrulaitis for almost another hour. Where's the list for that?"

Lawrence handed it to her and smiled. "Thank you," he said. "If you see Mr. Roarke, do tell him that everything is under control, if you don't mind. I don't want him to worry."

"Okay," said Leslie, but secretly crossed her fingers behind her back as she said it. Julie saw her do it and smirked, looking quickly aside to hide her expression from Lawrence.

"Gotta head back to my house and relieve poor Frida in the kitchen," she said. "I can't believe that girl still hasn't decided what to do with her life yet...but that's for another time. See you two later on. And for heaven's sake, Lawrence, don't work too hard. I mean that literally." She hurried off down a well-worn path, and Leslie started in another direction for the main house.

Once she got there, she found Roarke already at his desk, still engrossed in paperwork. With a quick greeting, which she wasn't certain he even heard, she pulled a chair up to the side of the desk, appropriated the telephone and began placing calls to the newspapers on the list Lawrence had given her. She was about halfway down the list when there came the sound of pounding footsteps on the veranda; the door burst open and a frantic Janine Andrulaitis rushed into the room, clutching a copy of her book. She made enough noise to arouse even Roarke. Leslie, in the midst of dialing another number, stopped and hung up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Miss Andrulaitis, may we help you?" Roarke inquired, rising from his chair.

The distraught young woman raked her hair out of her face with one hand, almost dropping the book. "Mr. Roarke, you've got to help me," she pleaded. "I never in my life thought I'd have to face something like this. It's horrible."

Roarke glanced at Leslie, who promptly got up and went to the sideboard to get Janine a glass of water. "Calm yourself, Miss Andrulaitis, and please sit down," Roarke urged soothingly. "What exactly is the problem?"

Janine accepted the glass Leslie offered her and gripped it with a trembling hand. "Someone's accusing me of plagiarism, Mr. Roarke!" she cried, and her eyes actually filled with tears.

"Plagiarism!" Leslie echoed, stunned. It was clear from Janine's highly disturbed mien that this development had all but devastated her and completely ruined her fondest dream; the tears began to run down her cheeks.

Roarke mulled over Janine's response for a couple of seconds, then fully focused on her and saw her despair. "I am very sorry, Miss Andrulaitis," he said consolingly. "I will try to do what I can to help, but you must calm yourself and tell me exactly what happened."

Shakily Janine took a sip from her water glass. "I was at my second book signing, and everything seemed to be going normally..."

About ninety minutes earlier, things had indeed been going smoothly for Janine. Leslie had just left, with the promise to be back in a couple of hours to take her to her bungalow, and she had settled comfortably in her chair, signing her name left and right, sometimes chatting a little with her newfound fans. One of them asked her if she was planning to write a sequel, and she confessed with a laugh that she hadn't thought that far ahead just yet.

The bookstore manager brought a pitcher and a glass and set them on the side of the table behind some copies of her book, and during a short lull Janine poured herself a glassful and gently massaged her wrist, which was beginning to ache after so much autographing. A couple of teenagers appeared looking to have their books signed, and Janine willingly obliged. Behind them stood a bespectacled, nerdy-looking young man, a little taller than average and too thin for his height, accompanied by a serious-looking man dressed in suit and tie and carrying a leather briefcase. As soon as the teenagers had left, they stepped smartly up to the table and stared hard at Janine.

"Are you Janine Andrulaitis?" demanded the man in the suit.

"Yes, I am," she said, still mostly curious, but already feeling a twinge of uneasiness.

"It's her fault, Grady," said the man in the glasses, pointing at Janine with a finger that shook with the same indignation his voice carried. "She's the one, I'm telling you. You gotta arrest her right this minute."

Janine sat up straight in horror. "What are you talking about?" she exclaimed.

The man in the suit cleared his throat. "Miss Andrulaitis, my name is Grady Harding. I'm an attorney, and this is my client, Henry Charles March. Mr. March claims that you have taken entire chapters from his own unpublished work and used them in your book." He lifted a copy of _Road to Kingdom Come_ and displayed it at her as if he thought she had never seen it before.

Janine gaped idiotically at them both, stunned beyond words for a long moment. She glanced back and forth between the lawyer and the accuser, struggling to comprehend this turn of events, before at last she fixed her astounded stare on March and protested incredulously, "That's impossible! I've never even heard of Henry Charles March, let alone met him. How could I have copied passages from a book written by someone I've never seen in my entire life?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Grady Harding in a voice that might have been meant to soothe, but which came out patronizing. "Nonetheless, that's Mr. March's claim. And I suggest you retain an attorney yourself, Miss Andrulaitis, so that you can properly answer these charges. We are prepared to produce proof."

"You'd better," Janine snapped, adrenaline shooting through her and propelling her into a standing position. "I'm not going to take this meekly, Mr. Harding, you can be sure of that. As for Mr. March, I'm sure he knows his claims are totally unfounded and completely groundless. I can hardly wait to see this alleged 'proof' you think you have."

The stunned store manager finally stepped in. "Excuse me, Mr. Harding and Mr. March, but I think you two had better leave here. If my understanding of the law is correct, then Miss Andrulaitis has the right to get herself an attorney and take enough time to gather her facts and present her case. I think you both should leave right now so she can start doing that, if you really intend to go through with your plan."

Harding and March glanced at him, then left the store without another word, although March did turn a little and glare at Janine over his shoulder. Her only consolation was that this made him bump heavily into the doorsill on his way out.

"Ha," grunted the manager. "Serves the little nerd right. Don't worry, Miss Andrulaitis, I'm sure you have to be innocent. It's undoubtedly a case of a jealous nobody hoping to make some easy money off someone else's success. My shift's about over. Can I take you somewhere?"

Janine nodded, her whole body quaking from adrenaline withdrawal. "Yes, please, if you're sure you don't mind," she murmured dazedly. "I need to see Mr. Roarke."

"So that's how I got back here, Mr. Roarke," Janine finished her story. She had drained her glass by now, and Leslie took it from her to refill it. "I know that man is lying -- I've never seen him in my life, and I have no clue who on earth he is. But if he really does have this proof he claims to have, then what chance do I have against him?"

Roarke smiled gently. "Oh, there are ways, Miss Andrulaitis. Don't worry, I will help you in every way I can. For now, I suggest you relax and try to put this problem out of your mind for a time. It will do you no good to let it rule your every moment, and you'll find it difficult to rest and be in good form for your defense against this Henry Charles March. My advice, for the moment, is that you relax at your bungalow for a little while. And by all means, do attend our luau this evening. All right?"  
  
Janine nodded, looking a little dubious, but taking him at his word. "Okay, Mr. Roarke. I'll try to take your advice, but I have to tell you, that...that little bloodsucker has totally destroyed my fantasy." Her face contorted as though she were trying to hold back more tears, but she regained control and left the house.

Leslie, who had never gotten around to refilling the glass, set it aside and approached the desk. "Mr. Roarke, how in the world could anyone accuse her of plagiarism and think they could get away with it? I mean, that book hasn't even been published outside of Fantasy Island!"

"Indeed," said her adoptive father, and then he smiled at her. "But Miss Andrulaitis is not without her own resources, even if she doesn't fully realize it yet. Wait and see."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- April 28, 1984

At the luau that evening, Leslie saw Frida Olsson for the first time in quite some time. Both girls had been so busy with their respective jobs that they rarely found chances to get together; so when they met at the luau, they took the opportunity to get caught up. Frida's pretty face was a study in animation this evening. "Leslie, I am going home to Sweden soon!"

"Are you?" Leslie exclaimed, glad for Frida but knowing she would miss her Swedish friend dearly when she was gone. "When do you plan to leave?"

"It's not so soon as you think," Frida said and smiled. "I go home in August so that I can begin school in Stockholm. I want to become a clothing designer. Not only for famous people, but for everyone, so that all people can afford to buy the things I make. You know I have been so homesick in a long time. Now I count the days until I go home again. There are places to live at the school I want to go into, so I don't have to worry about where I should live."

"That's really great," Leslie said warmly. "Of course, you know I'll miss you when you leave, so I hope you're planning to write and stay in touch with us."

Frida laughed. "Julie has already told me I must write to her or else she will follow me to Sweden and visit me for weeks until I am sick of her." Both girls giggled. "If you don't get a letter from me in a long time, it means only that I am very busy and I will write again when I have a chance. But I think it's time for me to go home now. All year I have worked for Julie and saved the money to go home again, enough that I can have something to stay alive while I am looking for a job that will help me to buy food and schoolbooks and other things." Her face softened with memory. "Julie has been so generous to me, I can't hope to repay her for her kindness. And Mr. Roarke was kind also, to give me a place to stay until I am old enough to go on my own." She focused on Leslie. "You helped me, do you know that? You were the first person on this island who spoke to me, and you were kind, and you made me decide that perhaps it would be all right if I trusted you that first day. My life would have been so different if you had not been here and told me all about Mr. Roarke."

"I'm just glad we could help," Leslie said softly. "And I'm glad you're going to be happy, Frida. I know you're looking forward to leaving, but we're going to miss you so much..."

"Ah, there you two are," said a new voice, and Julie MacNabb dropped into another chair beside them. "I suppose Frida's told you her news, Leslie."

Leslie nodded. "I bet your house is going to seem empty after she leaves."

"Are you kidding?" Julie hooted. "With all those people going in and out and gobbling down every scrap of food in my house, and every single guest constantly asking where the pool is or how to get to the main house or what it costs to rent a bike or go horseback riding, or what time the luau starts?" She blew out a loud, gusty breath, fell back in her chair and then stared wistfully at Frida. "Yeah, the place is gonna be an absolute tomb."

Before any of them could say any more, Leslie caught a movement at a nearby table and turned to see what it was. She was thoroughly surprised to recognize Janine Andrulaitis, hunched over a book that was laid out flat in front of her, reading with so much concentration that a nearby plate of fruit sat utterly forgotten. Julie and Frida followed her gaze, and Julie blinked. "Hey, isn't that Janine Andrulaitis, that famous new author?"

Leslie nodded. "She's one of our guests, actually. Maybe I better see if she's okay."

"Who reads at a luau?" Julie asked. "And what's she reading?"

Leslie squinted at Janine and realized the young author was avidly reading her own book. Perplexed, Leslie got up, making a quick excuse to Julie and Frida, and approached Janine a little hesitantly. "Excuse me, Miss Andrulaitis? Aren't you supposed to be enjoying the luau?"

Janine looked up sharply, then relaxed upon recognizing Leslie. "Oh, hi there, Leslie. Well, I tried to have a good time, but my mind's too full of that jerk and his lawyer. I've been going over my book just to see if I noticed anything different from what was in the manuscript I sent to Mr. Roarke. I mean, there aren't too many books that make it to publication without some pretty heavy renovating by either the author or the editor."

Leslie nodded. "I see," she said. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead," Janine invited, and Leslie took a chair. From the next table, Julie and Frida watched with interest.

"So," Leslie said after settling herself, "have you found anything different yet?"

"Oh, some stuff I thought was pretty darn good got left out," Janine admitted a little sheepishly, "but that's common to every writer. You write a sentence that you think is a piece of sheer genius and is destined to become a classic line that gets quoted as a cliché a century from now, the way people do with Shakespeare. But then some editor comes along, tells you it's too wordy or unnecessary to the story or just plain garbage, and snips it out. And there goes the immortality you were dreaming of." She grinned, and Leslie laughed softly.

"I can understand that," she remarked, "even though I'm not a writer. But it's like Mr. Roarke said. You need to relax and try to get your mind off this whole problem for awhile. If you don't give it a rest, you're going to be too worn out -- and maybe too discouraged -- to stand up to that guy and his lawyer. Tell you what, why don't you let me have the book for now. Have some of this fruit here, and make sure you watch the hula and the guys who do the tricks with fire. They put on a terrific show."

Janine hesitated for a long moment, considering the situation; then she seemed to give up, heaved a great sigh and clapped the book shut, pushing it across the table at Leslie. "Okay, you win. I'll force myself to have a good time." Leslie laughed again and picked up the book, getting to her feet.

"It'll be worth it, and you'll feel better," Leslie promised. "We'll see you tomorrow at the main house, okay?" She waited for Janine's nod, then smiled and headed back to the table where Julie and Frida still sat.

"Nice work there," Julie complimented her. "What problem does she have?"

Leslie explained about the plagiarism accusation Janine had been hit with, and displayed the book at Julie and Frida. "Mr. Roarke still has the original manuscript, which Lawrence and I both read. I think I'm going to do some detective work. Julie, if Mr. Roarke's looking for me, tell him I went back to the main house and why. I'll call you tomorrow if you're free, Frida."

"I will have some free time in the afternoon," Frida said. "I hope you find a solution to that poor lady's problem. To have such a dream come true, and then see a man come and spoil it for her. How sad. _Lycka till_, Leslie."

"_Tack_, Frida," Leslie replied in her friend's native language.

"Which means what?" Julie asked expectantly.

"She wished me good luck, and I thanked her," Leslie told her and grinned. "See you two later on."

She wound her way along the forest paths, which after four years on the island she could have navigated in her sleep, till she emerged into the clearing beside the main house. The moon silvered the water in the fountain and painted a gleaming path on the duck pond across the lane from the house, and she paused to study the sight for a moment. The call of some exotic tropical bird -- three two-part rising notes, then two sad laments followed by a shuddering cry -- lent an additional layer of mysticism to the warm spring night. Leslie smiled and trotted up the steps, crossed the porch and let herself into the house, only to encounter Lawrence standing beside Roarke's desk, chatting animatedly with someone on the phone.

"Surely," Lawrence was saying, "you have nothing better to do, Adam?...Well, then, why don't you think about it? I'm not scheduled to leave here for another month, so that gives you some time to decide." He pronounced "scheduled" in the British way, with a _sh_ sound. "The working conditions here are unsurpassed, and Mr. Roarke is one of the better supervisors I've known." He took a breath to continue, but stopped abruptly, and Leslie assumed he had been interrupted; this was borne out when his face took on an expression of consternation. "The reason I'm leaving has nothing to do with this. Really, Adam, you do try my patience at times. I was certain you'd leap at this opportunity, and instead you're using every argument in the book against coming. Truly, ever since you found that lep --" At that exact moment he spotted Leslie standing atop the foyer steps, listening in unabashedly, and cut himself off, clearing his throat loudly. "I'm afraid I must hang up for now. But I strongly advise that you give this chance some serious consideration. You may never have such an opportunity come your way again, no matter how good your past luck has been. Goodbye, Adam." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

"What was that all about?" Leslie asked mildly, taking the steps down into the office proper.

"Just a little chat with a friend," Lawrence evaded. "What are you doing back here so early? Has Mr. Roarke come back with you?"

"He doesn't know I'm here," Leslie said. "I've got a bit of a hunch, and I need to follow it before it gets away from me. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Nothing at all," said Lawrence, sounding a little strained. "Nothing worth wasting your time over, at any rate. I believe I shall look in on the luau. Good luck with your hunch, miss."

"Thanks," Leslie said and watched him leave through the open French doors behind the desk. Then she sat in Roarke's chair, glanced around the desk and was relieved to see that the manuscript Janine had sent him lay in plain sight among some folders and loose sheets of letterhead used for letters of acceptance to hopeful fantasizers. She picked up the manuscript, opened the book, and began comparing pages in each respective work. Janine's remark about the possibility of something being left out of the published book had given her the spark of an idea, and if it panned out, she and Roarke might be able to use the results to help Janine win her case against Henry Charles March.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- April 28-29, 1984

It was just past midnight when Roarke finally returned to the main house -- having been waylaid by a non-fantasizing vacationer who needed Roarke's help in making arrangements to return home immediately due to a family emergency -- and found Leslie sitting at his desk, studying as if for a final college exam. He stopped in the middle of the floor and stared at her in surprise for about ten seconds before inquiring, "Leslie, what are you doing?"

Her head snapped up and she gawked at him, then instantly relaxed. "Oh, hi, Mr. Roarke," she said. "I'm working on something for Janine Andrulaitis."

"Are you indeed?" responded Roarke, approaching the desk and rounding it to take a look at the object of her intense scrutiny. "I see. And where did you get the manuscript?"

"It was sitting right here on top of your desk," Leslie told him. "I didn't go into any drawers, honest. I had an idea and I thought it was worth pursuing."

Roarke looked thoughtfully at her, then at the book and manuscript. "What idea would that be?"

"I was talking with Frida and Julie at the luau, and we saw Miss Andrulaitis there," Leslie explained, and told him the story. "After she said that about editors cutting out stuff that writers would have left in, I thought it was possible that something like that could've happened on a larger scale. So I brought the book back here and started comparing it to the manuscript she sent us. Who knows what might have been changed in the published version?"

Roarke's dark eyes grew warm with surprised approval. "Shrewd thinking indeed, my daughter," he said and squeezed her shoulder; then he decided to test her a little further. "Now, to precisely what purpose is this not-so-little task directed?"

She sat back in the chair and arched her back inward to ease the ache it had acquired from hunching over the desk. "Well, I thought about that guy who's crying plagiarism and how she told us she's never seen or heard of him in her life till now. I don't see any reason not to believe her. If he and his lawyer are so sure they can produce proof that Miss Andrulaitis supposedly copied part of his work, and if manuscripts can be changed, then it's just possible that this one was, just so they could swoop in and sue her. That's the theory I'm working on."

Roarke nodded. "Very good, Leslie. Excellent." She turned pink and smiled under his praise, and he smiled back. "I suggest that you get some sleep for now, however, so that you can be fresh and ready to continue in the morning. I called Mr. Grady Harding and requested that he and his client be here at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and asked the same of Miss Andrulaitis on my way back here this evening. So you have until then to validate your theory."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By eight o'clock on Sunday morning, breakfast had long been in progress on the veranda. Lawrence charged onto the porch quite late, puffing a little, sporting dark circles under his eyes and looking somewhat rumpled. Roarke and Leslie stared at him curiously.

"Good morning, sir, miss," Lawrence managed, chugging to a stop beside the table.

"Good morning, Lawrence," Roarke replied, a little bemused. "It appears you didn't get very much sleep last night. Sit down and have some breakfast, at least."

Lawrence gratefully sank into the chair in front of the third place setting and sighed deeply. "Well, as a matter of fact, sir, it took me quite nearly the entire night, but I managed at last to convince him. I've been endeavoring to persuade him for at least two days now and he has been most reluctant, I'm sorry to say, but he finally agreed." Noting the confused expressions on both his companions, he cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter and announced with perceptible pride in his voice, "Sir, I'm happy to tell you that I've found your new assistant."

Leslie stared at him in amazement, and even Roarke was clearly surprised. "Well, Lawrence, I thank you," he said after a moment. "When will he be here?"

"Mid-week," Lawrence replied. "He's a great, great friend of mine, sir, and his name is Adam O'Cearlach. A very fine chap, and I'm certain he'll fit in perfectly."

Leslie eyed him doubtfully. "How do you figure that?"

"Oh, he has quite a bit of experience with unusual phenomena," Lawrence said, serving himself generously from the assorted dishes on the table. "He should have no problem at all settling into the position. I thought, sir, that he could work with me for the next several weekends until I leave for Cornwall, and I would show him the ropes."

Roarke's expression grew stern. "Lawrence, you seem to be forgetting one small thing," he said. "I have yet to even meet this man, let alone approve him for the job." Lawrence froze where he sat and turned scarlet. "I have no objection to your 'showing him the ropes' and helping him 'settle into the position', as you say...but all that depends on whether I decide to hire him. I appreciate your enthusiasm; but I suggest you rein it in until I have met your Adam O'Cearlach and evaluated his suitability for the job."

Lawrence folded his hands in his lap and looked contrite. "I apologize, sir," he said humbly. "It's only that I wanted to be certain you had the best possible assistant before I left."

Leslie remembered the previous day's conversation between herself, Julie and Lawrence, and a grin slowly grew on her features. "He has the best of intentions, Mr. Roarke," she offered on Lawrence's behalf. "He wants a clear conscience about leaving you so suddenly."

Lawrence gave Leslie a supremely dirty look, which had little effect on her, and shifted in his chair, beginning to fill his plate again. "As much as I hate to admit it, sir," he said reluctantly, "she is correct. But I truly do believe that Adam will fit in well here, and I think you'll find it so as well."

Roarke relented with a slight smile. "Perhaps so," he said. "I shall reserve judgment until then. But I very much appreciate your efforts, Lawrence, and I must admit I'm quite impressed that you found someone so quickly. I look forward to meeting this Adam O'Cearlach. In the meantime, I recommend that both of you eat well. We have a busy day before us."

Leslie took in a last bite or two and pushed her chair back. "I'm done anyway," she said. "I'd better get back to that book. Excuse me, please." Roarke nodded; Lawrence, oblivious, dug into his plate as if he hadn't eaten in two weeks. Leslie got up and hurried back into the house, where she retrieved the book and manuscript from her bedroom and returned to Roarke's office. From there she stepped out onto the spacious flagstone patio that lay beyond the French doors, and took a seat at an outdoor table where she could go through the material undisturbed.

By twelve-thirty, Roarke had come out looking for her, his handsome features filled with concern. "Leslie, are you all right? You haven't left that table since you finished breakfast this morning."

She looked up and smiled. "I'm okay, Mr. Roarke. Mariki came out about nine-thirty or so and left me a pitcher of mango juice, and she went back to the kitchen a few minutes ago and told me she's going to bring me some lunch. And I take a break every couple hours and walk around the patio. So don't worry."

Roarke smiled. "It won't be much longer until our guests arrive for their appointment," he reminded her. "Have you found anything?"

"Well, I've gotten all the way to the last three chapters now," she said, "so if I find anything, that's where it'll be. So far the book and manuscript don't differ much. I'll let you know right away if I see something significant."

"Well enough," Roarke replied, satisfied. "I'll see about that lunch for you." He turned and left.

He had been gone less than a minute when Leslie sat up straight and stared in shock at the chapter she was reading. The first two paragraphs matched the manuscript; after that, the story in the book went in a completely different direction from how Janine had written it. Leslie began to skim over the pages, but she suspected that the book and manuscript would diverge more and more through the end of the book; and she was right. The final three chapters were not Janine Andrulaitis' work at all. She was shaking her head in disgust over the book's ending when Roarke returned with a tray.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting the tray down on the table and taking a seat.

"I was right, Mr. Roarke," Leslie exclaimed. "It's the end of the book. Except for the first two paragraphs of Chapter 24, the last three chapters are totally different from what was in the manuscript! Remember at the end of Chapter 23 where Daisy decides to take the job in Africa, and the last three chapters tell about the experience she has that changes her whole outlook? Well, in the beginning of Chapter 24, she goes there all right, but then everything changes so that in the book, she meets a guy and gets married, and lives happily ever after and all that garbage." Roarke raised one eyebrow at this remark but did not comment. "Someone substituted their own work for what Miss Andrulaitis wrote, and ten to one it was that Henry Charles March."

Roarke smiled. "Very good work, my child." He extracted his gold pocket watch, checked it and tucked it back into place. "You have about twenty minutes for lunch. Once you are finished, bring the book and manuscript inside, and we'll wait for Miss Andrulaitis, Mr. Harding and Mr. March." He smiled, arose and brushed some of her long hair back over her shoulder. "But don't eat too fast. I wouldn't want my young detective to miss the chance to present her evidence because of a case of indigestion." They both laughed, and Leslie pulled the tray to her and began to eat with a sense of high anticipation.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- April 29, 1984

Janine appeared at the main house at exactly one o'clock, by which time Leslie had finished her lunch and Mariki had removed the tray. Leslie still held the book and manuscript, and when Janine saw she had them, she gave Leslie a look filled with questions. Leslie just smiled and winked, and Janine smiled back; her desperately hopeful expression seemed to encompass her entire body, not just her face.

Roarke gestured for Janine to take a seat, and she did so slowly while Roarke sat in his own chair and pulled open a drawer, from which he removed a folder that clearly contained several papers. No one spoke while all this was going on; it was as if they were saving all speech for the arrival of Henry Charles March and Grady Harding.

They showed up ten minutes late; Harding looked annoyed, and March sported a black eye and a large blue bruise on his cheek, which Janine remembered his having acquired on his way out after leveling his accusation at her. Roarke eyed them disapprovingly but said nothing except, "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"Sorry we're late, Mr. Roarke," Harding said, clearing his throat. "My client thought he had time to see a doctor." He shot March a quick glare.

March ignored him. "Well, Roarke, so what's the story here? What're we doing here?" At that point he recognized Janine in her chair and squalled indignantly, "Hey, wait a minute, are you her lawyer or something, Roarke?"

"Or something, yes," Roarke said dryly. "Kindly sit down, Mr. March. Mr. Harding, perhaps you would like to make use of my desk to present your evidence against Miss Andrulaitis?"

Harding nodded curtly, came to the desk and thumped his briefcase atop it loudly enough to make everyone wince. The clicks as he unlocked and opened it echoed across the room like so many gunshots. All eyes were on the briefcase as Harding lifted out what appeared to be a manuscript that was held together by a jumbo binder clip and nothing more. "This," he said, handing it to Roarke, "is a copy of the manuscript for my client's unpublished book _Sissy in Springtime_." Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Janine made a face, and Leslie barely avoided following suit. "If you would like to scan it, Mr. Roarke, please feel free."

"Try checking the last three chapters," Leslie suggested. To Janine, the lawyer and March, this appeared to be a non sequitur; but Roarke understood her meaning and quirked her a fleeting half-smile before thumbing through March's manuscript, pausing to read a few lines here and there. Then he turned to his daughter and offered her the pages.

"Perhaps you will find something therein," he said.

"I object!" March immediately shouted. Roarke directed a quelling glance at him, and Harding succinctly told him to shut up. Janine, trying to see from her chair, had all but started to rise out of it and was leaning perceptibly forward, her eyes huge with curiosity, her mouth open a little and a palm planted on each chair arm as if bracing herself to get up.

"What is there to object to, Mr. March?" Roarke inquired.

"That's just a kid," March sneered. "I don't even know what she's doing in here to begin with."

"First of all," Roarke said frostily, "that 'kid', as you put it, is my daughter. And secondly, she has read both the published and unpublished forms of Miss Andrulaitis' book in full, and thus is qualified to sit in on this case. Go ahead, Leslie, and tell us what you find."

Leslie put down Janine's book and manuscript and accepted March's, starting from the end and thumbing through exactly three chapters before stopping. She began to read rapidly, and after only a page looked up at Roarke. "Mr. Roarke, look at the published book, starting at Chapter 24." Roarke picked up the book and did as requested. "If you take a look, you'll see that the last three chapters of the book are an exact match for the last three chapters of Mr. March's manuscript."

With several swift glances, Roarke compared a few paragraphs and nodded. "It does indeed appear to do so," he said. Janine sank into her chair, her face filled with what looked like betrayal; March looked smug and annoyed all at once.

"This is a waste of time," he said. "That just goes to prove that this woman plagiarized my book."

"Dammit, Henry, I'm warning you for the last time," Harding growled at him. "Close your trap before you ruin your own case." March, looking suddenly alarmed, subsided, to everyone else's relief. "Come on, Mr. Roarke, what're you getting at?"

Roarke simply glanced at Leslie, who handed him March's open manuscript and picked up Janine's, again turning pages from the back. "Now," Leslie said, "here are the final three chapters of Miss Andrulaitis' original manuscript." She displayed them at Roarke, who again compared it against March's manuscript and nodded at what he saw.

"Mr. Harding," Roarke said, "we have discovered that Miss Andrulaitis' original manuscript had a completely different ending from that which appeared in the published book."

This time Janine did come out of her chair as though sprung. "What!" she cried.

Leslie came around and showed her the last three chapters of the book. Janine flipped pages, reading sentences here and there, her face going red and her fury clearly mounting. After several moments she looked up and glared at Harding. "I _never_ authorized this change in my book, Mr. Harding. This was done without my knowledge, and I'd swear to that in a judge's courtroom."

Harding scowled. "Can you prove it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Roarke, picking up the folder he had earlier removed from his desk drawer. "This morning I paid a visit to our local publishing company and had a little meeting with the editor who worked on Miss Andrulaitis' manuscript." He paused long enough to open the folder. "I was able to obtain several documents from him, and I found one of them very enlightening indeed. Perhaps you'd like to examine it, Mr. Harding." Roarke withdrew a sheet from the folder and handed it to Harding. As the attorney read, his expression gradually shifted from annoyance and bewilderment to outrage and anger. When he finished reading, he glared disgustedly at March.

"You sniveling little swindler," he said, biting off each word. "You've been using me in an attempt to cheat an innocent person out of her rightfully earned money. If you really intend to go through with this little farce, March, then you'd better get yourself another attorney, because I categorically refuse to sink to representing the likes of you." He turned to Janine. "I sincerely apologize, Miss Andrulaitis. I suspect Mr. Roarke won't mind a bit if you take a look at this." He handed Janine the document he held and looked at Leslie. "Nice detective work, young lady. Mr. Roarke, that's one smart daughter you've got. Good day, all." He locked up his briefcase and started for the foyer.

"Where the hell are you going?" March howled indignantly.

"As far away from you as I can get," Harding retorted. "I have no doubt Mr. Roarke will be more than happy to fill you in." With that, he walked out the door.

Janine had been reading the document and now looked up at Roarke and Leslie, her face slack with disbelief. "This says that the editor of my manuscript was paid to change the ending!"

"Precisely," Roarke said, nodding. "As it happened, the editor who worked on your book was in cahoots with one Henry Charles March. They are half-brothers, in fact; and they have made a business out of replacing passages in published manuscripts with excerpts from Mr. March's own unpublished work. When the book in question is released to bookstores, Mr. March and his brother then bring about a lawsuit for plagiarism. This has happened several times before, but it's only now that we have finally caught the perpetrators. The document you hold is an apparent attempt by each half-brother to keep the other 'honest', as it were. You'll find both signatures on the bottom of the page. The document was meant to keep either man from cheating the other of his half of the resulting proceeds once the lawsuits were either won or settled out of court."

March had been edging towards the foyer all the while Roarke was speaking; now he broke into a run, but he didn't get far. Roarke narrowed his eyes at the knob on the door March was lunging for, and they all clearly heard a _snick_ as the lock engaged. March grabbed the knob and twisted it frantically for a moment, long enough for Leslie to pick up the phone and make a quick call.

"I'm afraid that this particular chapter in your life won't have quite as happy an ending as you had anticipated, Mr. March," Roarke said with mock regret. "Perhaps you can consider what the next chapter will be like while you serve some time. You might even ask your brother for help, since he is already in custody."

March gave up on the locked door and sagged to the floor; Leslie hung up and turned to Roarke. "The police are on their way," she said.

Janine got slowly to her feet and stared at Leslie. "How old are you, anyway?"

"I'll be nineteen in another week," Leslie said.

Their guest shook her head. "Amazing," she said softly. "That was some really terrific work you did. I feel like I ought to reward you or something! And me...I was silly enough not to even read my own book. If I ever do get published for real someday, Mr. Roarke, you can be sure I won't make that mistake again."

Roarke chuckled. "I have no doubt of that, Miss Andrulaitis. As for a reward..."

"Just sign my copy when your first book does come out, that's all," Leslie said, bringing on a round of laughter just as the police arrived. The door now opened easily, battering March, who was still slumped on the floor. March grunted aloud and moaned, rolling aside, while two members of the island's police force wedged in through the narrow opening left by March's prostrate body, stepped over him, cuffed him and hauled him to his feet.

"My ribs," March whined plaintively. "I think the door hit me in the ribs."

"That's what you get for lying there like a rug," remarked one of the policemen, and he and his partner laughed uproariously at what they clearly considered a terrific joke before dragging March out with them. Roarke, Leslie and Janine winced all at once; then Janine let out an undignified snort of mirth, which set off Leslie as well. Very carefully, Roarke hid a reluctant smile of his own.


	7. CHapter 7

§ § § -- April 30, 1984

They stood in their usual places at the plane dock on Monday morning, seeing their guests off, and watched as the first car pulled up and Andrew Doren climbed out. "So...did you meet Nero, as you hoped?" Lawrence inquired.

"Yeah, but it took some fancy talking," Doren admitted with a grin. "I guess I confused them enough that they decided to turn me over to the big man himself and let him figure out what to do with me." They all laughed. "It was a great fantasy, Mr. Roarke, and I appreciate your patience with me when I almost chickened out at the last minute. I'm glad I went through with it. Heck, I even taught Nero how to play 'The Waltzing Matilda.' He was still at it when you came around and told me my fantasy was over. I don't think he even noticed me leave."

"I'm glad you were pleased," Roarke said. "Have a safe and pleasant trip home."

"Thanks, I will," Doren said. "And from now on I'll be grateful for certain modern-day conventions. Togas are _drafty_!" His hosts' laughter followed him as he crossed the clearing to the dock, turning and waving at them once with a broad grin before heading to the waiting seaplane.

Then Lawrence seemed to remember something and caught himself, turning to Roarke with an expression of pure disbelief. "'The Waltzing Matilda'?"

"So he's the one we can blame for that stupid myth," Leslie kidded, and they all laughed again as a second car pulled up bearing Janine Andrulaitis. She got out and faced her hosts with a faintly wry smile, clutching her manuscript in the crook of her left arm.

"I have to tell you, this weekend made me think twice about wanting a bestseller, at least a couple of times," she confessed. "I wonder just how often authors have to go through that kind of stuff."

"I'd say not terribly so, madam," Lawrence offered. "After all, when such a thing does happen, it always makes headlines. And you rarely hear of bestselling authors being accused of plagiarism; it seems to happen mostly in the film industry."

"Indeed," Roarke said with a smile. "Perhaps you should look at it this way, Miss Andrulaitis. You helped us to bring to justice a criminal team who had already gotten away with their scam on a number of occasions before you arrived here."

"Not without a lot of help," Janine said, and smiled at Leslie. "I think you really did it all. I promise to send you the first autographed copy of whatever book of mine finally gets published."

"Then you owe her that autographed copy right now," Roarke informed her, dark eyes twinkling. At Janine's stunned look, he explained, "The chief editor at the publishing house that originally released your book found a copy of the manuscript for _Road to Kingdom Come_ in the files of the editor who was in cahoots with Henry Charles March, and called late last evening to notify me that he wishes to publish it. I took the liberty of giving him the means by which to contact you once you have returned to Minnesota; so you should expect to receive a phone call from him after you arrive home."

"And he'll publish it exactly as you wrote it," Leslie added with a grin.

Janine laughed. "Then I guess I have nothing to worry about, do I? Mr. Roarke, Leslie, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me. I'll never forget this weekend, and your book will be on the way to you just as soon as I get my complimentary copies." She reached over and grasped Leslie's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you all again, and goodbye."

They watched her cross the clearing to the dock, returned her wave, and relaxed a bit. "So when is this Adam O'Cearlach supposed to be here again?" Leslie asked.

"In another two days," Lawrence said. He looked apologetically at Roarke. "I had to send him one of the passes for the plane. I hope you don't mind, sir."

Roarke peered at him curiously. "Well, how else could he be expected to step foot onto Fantasy Island if not with a pass for the plane?" he asked rhetorically. "Although, since you've already provided any number of your friends with passes simply for the asking, perhaps I should put Leslie in charge of them." Access to Fantasy Island was carefully controlled; all arriving guests were required to hand over a small green pass to the attendant before boarding the charter plane at Honolulu International Airport. The only way to get such a pass was to request one from Roarke, who kept them all at the main house. As for water traffic, the only regular boat was a ferry between Fantasy Island and its nearest neighbor, Coral Island. Anyone taking the ferry had to have a pass in order to return to Fantasy Island. Since Coral Island's students attended school on Fantasy Island, they carried special blue passes back and forth to school, which were turned back in to the schools' principals if the student in question moved away.

Lawrence had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "I simply felt that they could take their holidays in no better place than Fantasy Island, sir."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and shook their heads. "He really has a way of neatly extricating himself from all sorts of trouble with just a couple of sentences, doesn't he," Leslie remarked.

"Without question," Roarke concurred dryly, eyeing Lawrence.

Lawrence looked distinctly pleased, although he made some effort to be humble about it. "Ah, now, sir, miss, if you think _I_ have a way with words, then wait till Adam arrives. He is the original silver-tongued devil."

"That could be something other than a compliment, you know," Leslie pointed out.

"Just wait and see," Lawrence replied mysteriously, and smiled in a way that irritated Leslie and apparently had something of the same effect on Roarke, judging from his faintly exasperated expression. In spite of herself, Leslie was looking forward to meeting Adam O'Cearlach, and found herself wondering if she would live to regret the feeling.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
